


Crackers

by The Hag (hagsrus)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Older Lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hagsrus/pseuds/The%20Hag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lads at Christmas, then and now</p><p>December 2011</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crackers

Crackers  
by The Hag

Christmas day on standby. Better than actually being on duty but they might be summoned any moment. Difficult to relax.

Bodie was drifting on the edge of a doze, regardless. Phone would wake him. Doyle would wake him. Doyle always had his back.

 _Doyle would stroke the length of his spine, strong fingers easing knots of tension. Doyle would kiss the place where shoulder joined neck, a place he'd sussed out that made Bodie shudder with pleasure. Oh, the things Doyle would do when they were released from standby. The things he'd do to Doyle...._

"You just don't bloody well rhyme with anything," Doyle said irritably.

"Beg pardon for living," Bodie muttered, jolted out of his reverie and switching appetites. "Think I fancy a bit of your sister's fruitcake."

"Cody... Dodie... Jodie... it's all names."

"Or a couple of those mince pies."

 _"Some say he's bad, Some say he's toady..."_ Doyle hummed the first few bars of _I Know Where I'm Going_. "Better make it _some say he's fat_ the way you're pigging it down today."

"Thought you were doing the Colossal Christmas Crossword. Got stuck, did you?"

"Even your first names aren't much good. Psyllium is all I can think of for William, and..."

"I get it. It's that relentless Doyle competitive spirit striking again." Bodie grinned. "Just consider it one of Fate's ironic little arrangements. I like poetry so I get mixed up with somebody whose names rhyme with half the words in the language and I can knock off an exquisite poem faster than you can... well, make a cup of tea, for instance."

"Except most of yours are obscene." Doyle chewed his pencil. "But if you're going to make some tea--"

Bodie weighed the conflicting calls of sloth and gluttony. He fancied being waited on hand, foot and finger, but Doyle was disinclined to this entrancing pursuit. If he went and made the tea he could forage unhindered by comments about his weight for fruitcake and mince pies and chocolate biscuits, and perhaps a nibble of the cold turkey he'd brought back from the early Christmas dinner Gran had cooked for him yesterday. Pity he couldn't have taken Doyle along to meet her, but then Doyle had been gathering up the remains of his sister's superb baking.

Take Doyle to meet Gran?

 _Gran, this is Ray, my--_

My what?

 _Gran, this is Ray, my partner that I started having sex with?_

"Just have to put you in the middle of a line," Doyle concluded.

 _"Let the winter weather come:  
"I'll warm my feet on Bodie's bum,  
"And when the snow is far and wide  
"I'll get still warmer deep inside."_

"Not with your horrible feet, you won't." Bodie heaved himself off the sofa. "Don't even fancy being fisted."

"You ever been?" Doyle looked up from the words he was scribbling in the margins of the newspaper.

"Prurient is what you are, and no, I haven't." Bodie ruffled his hair. "You want tea or coffee?"

Doyle considered. "Cocoa."

"Tea it is."

Doyle said as Bodie returned with tea and fruitcake: "Crackers."

"Well, I may not be the very model of sanity, but--"

"No. In the top left drawer. Had them since last year. Just remembered."

"Oh. Right." Bodie fished out the two gaudy paper tubes. "Here we go, then."

The crackers produced their snapping sound and yielded a yellow paper pirate hat, a purple crown, two well-worn elephant jokes, a flimsy green whistle and a child-sized ring.

"Look at that, then: 24 karat tin with a genuine imitation diamond." Doyle admired it on his open palm.

"Kohinoor, shove over." Bodie produced a feeble tweet from the whistle. "Not exactly referee quality." He dropped it beside the ring. "There you go, sunshine. If you want me to stop 'em pinching your jewellery just blow that. It'll save you making that vulgar noise you usually come up with."

"It'll come in handy if my teeth get knocked out. Don't much fancy the hats."

Bodie perched the hats on the phones, yellow pirate for the private line, purple crown for CI5. "Twenty minutes to go," he said.

He sat beside Doyle on the sofa and sipped his tea. Doyle slurped in his revoltingly lovable fashion.

 _Lovable? Lord help me. I'm doomed. Talk about going crackers! Where the hell_ am _I going?_

He looked at the two little trinkets and almost unthinking he said, _"Whistle and I'll be there."_

"What?"

"Housman." And he could stop now. He could-- _"Be good to the lad who loves you true."_

Doyle stared at him. "You turning sentimental, Bodie?" His voice held no mockery.

"Seem to be."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

 _"I would leave them all For my..."_ Doyle trailed off. "Well, can't really call you bonny and winsome, can I?"

"Sounds like a women's shop." Bodie picked up the ring. "Won't fit, will it." He took Doyle's unresisting hand and slipped the circlet over the tip of his little finger.

Their eyes met, gazes held.

Doyle sucked in a long breath. "All right, then."

He transferred the ring to Bodie's finger where it perched absurdly. "Know where we're going, eh?"

And of course the CI5 phone rang.

"Jingling all the way," Bodie said happily as Doyle went to answer it.

 

 

Bodie hung up his coat in the hall and went through the open door of the living room. Stepped into home.

Warm. Comfortably lighted. Mozart a soft background to the faint keyboard clicking.

Doyle was huddled into the corner of the sofa graciously ceded to him. He looked up from his laptop smiling and the cats lazily stretched their paws.

Bodie scooped up black Pollux and dumped him on top of ginger Castor in the far corner and sank down into the place beside Doyle. "What women see in shopping..."

"Had a nice day with Her Highness, then?"

"There's times I think it would just be easier to sleep with her and have done with it."

"Nah, she'd still drag you along hunting and gathering. Probably sees you as a father figure these days anyway."

"Thanks very much, Grandpa. That the year-end report?"

"Yeah." Doyle glanced back at the screen and grimaced.

"Bad, is it?"

"Well, still more or less solvent. But you make sure and keep Princess Mortgage-payer very happy, all right? With this bloody economy we could end up in a bedsit in Luton next Christmas."

"She's not hurting, anyway, and that last kid starting nursery school gives us another daily run."

"If she doesn't decide to pack up and move them all back to Saudi Arabia," Doyle said gloomily.

"Not her. She likes her decadent Western lifestyle and sports cars. Couldn't put up with being told to hide her hairdo under a scarf or lay off the satanic champagne on her cornflakes."

"Harrods, was it?"

"Mostly. At least she let us stop for lunch and a few coffee breaks this year. Here, do you know what they charge for Christmas crackers?"

"They're all overpriced tat, wherever you buy them. How much, then? Oi, guess what I--"

"You won't believe me. Get on the site and have a look."

Doyle tapped at the keyboard. "Harrods. Christmas crackers -- bloody hell!"

"Right. Half a dozen boxes she ordered."

"Six hundred quid each!" Doyle shook his head in disbelief and read aloud: "Featuring the Harrods Silver Bling design, these luxury Christmas crackers have been individually hand crafted and decorated with the finest trims. A truly stunning addition to your Christmas table, with each containing an impressive gift."

"Nah, come on, only five hundred and ninety-nine," Bodie protested.

"All-over crystal gem design -- Contents include: handmade party hats, a booklet brimming with humour and trivia, a traditional snap and a gift -- Gifts include: cigar leather case with stainless steel cutter, sterling silver zircon earrings in fine leather jewellery roll, Swarovski crystals whistle keyring and USB flash drive, pinstripe socks, silver pen with fine leather pouch and card holder, fine leather passport holder, fine leather iPod case and card holder. Keep out of reach of young children."

"I always do," Bodie said. "Thank god she didn't have them along today. Nice enough for kids but never shut up."

"Pinstripe socks? Sounds like a bit of a booby prize. One size fits all like the airlines hand out? Probably charge a tenner these days."

"Everything but the Higgs boson. Swarovski crystals whistle keyring and USB flash drive -- that's what I'd go for. What was it you were saying?"

Doyle set the laptop on the coffee table and stood up. "I found -- hang on a minute. I should put the casserole in." The cats sprang to attention. "Poor old moggies, haven't been fed for minutes."

"If we don't get the Moussai account renewed they're on their own with the mice," Bodie threatened the retreating trio.

He picked up the laptop and skimmed the report, then looked at the news headlines. Discouraged, he checked the other tab Doyle had left open and blinked in surprise.

Returning, Doyle dropped two small objects on the coffee table. "Remember these?"

Bodie picked up the tin ring and green whistle. "Are they--?"

"Found them in my oddments box." Doyle sat back down. "You could stretch out a bit while our lords-and-masters are having their snack."

Bodie slid an arm round his shoulders and nuzzled the short grey hair. "Quite comfortable. They'll only shove me off when they come back."

"Well, just to set your mind at rest, Moussai is renewing. Called this afternoon."

"That's a relief, anyway. See you've finally discovered Housman."

"Oh." Doyle glanced at the screen. "Finding those -- reminded me what you said that time. Never really thought about it but then -- dig up anything on Google, can't you."

"Bit grim, the first verse, but -- "

Doyle turned his head. He leaned in for a kiss. "You meant it all back then?"

"Mean it even more now," Bodie said. "Gawd, here come the food-hoovers. Oof! Get your nose out of my earhole, you miserable son of a violin-string reject, or you'll find yourself back looking pathetic on the adopt-a-perishing-nuisance website. And you, get your bloody tail out of my face!"

"Isn't that what you said to me last Tuesday night?"

"Too old to remember. Well, don't mind your tail. Still a pretty good bum, considering. Improving with age, like fine whisky."

"Fancy a drink, do you?"

"Psychic, you are. A drop of that Glenfiddich would go down nicely. You'll have to get it. I'm pinned down here by the clowder."

"The what?"

"Google it!"

They touched glasses in a ritual toast.

"To Cowley, sorting out the angels," Doyle said.

"To Cowley, sorting out the devils," Bodie responded. "Is that the end of the bottle?"

"Nearly. Save it to wet our whistles for later."

"I'll be there," Bodie said happily. "If I can remember why."

"I'll remind you," Doyle promised, and headed back to the kitchen, pursued by black and ginger missiles.

"Gannets." Bodie picked up the ring. "Time we got something a bit classier than you. Couple of nice platinum. Gran would have liked that."

If the ring had been endowed with awareness it would have ignored him, knowing with revolting sentimentality that, even forgotten for years, its place in their hearts was secure forever.

 

 

[end]

December 2011

Shake hands, we shall never be friends, all's over;  
I only vex you the more I try.  
All's wrong that ever I've done or said,  
And nought to help it in this dull head:  
Shake hands, here's luck, good-bye.

But if you come to a road where danger  
Or guilt or anguish or shame's to share,  
Be good to the lad that loves you true  
And the soul that was born to die for you,  
And whistle and I'll be there.

[E.A. Housman]

References to I Know Where I'm Going  
[Irish folk song]  
"...a three-volume novel of more than usually revolting sentimentality ..."  
[Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest


End file.
